


Is Devotion a Gift or a Thief?

by sonnie



Series: The Cost of Craving Dark Instead of Light [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Beer, Feelings, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnie/pseuds/sonnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ranger Bruce Gage and Hermann Gottlieb share a few beers and talk about life, love, and secret pen pals.  The former is acquainted with Newt Geiszler, and because he possesses this knowledge, <i>just might happen to be</i> actively against them meeting in person.  </p>
<p>Bruce is no chemist, but he knows you shouldn't mix volatile substances.  Too bad the guy with the doctorates seems oblivious to this fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is Devotion a Gift or a Thief?

Everything is exciting in a way Hermann has long since decided things stop being as an adult. Academia is comfortable and boring, but _this?_ This is _cool_. He hasn’t felt like this since his dreams of becoming a pilot were utterly crushed. The years since then have cushioned the blow somewhat, but some disappointments never really go away. Hermann knows he’ll never be a Jaeger pilot, but that’s okay. It’s his code that gets them there, that makes it all possible.

(And the idea of a copilot rooting around in his mind is far from appealing.)

Rangers are an interesting sort. It’s not about being the best and brightest, but rather one half of that. A ranger is a complement, not a whole—an unbalanced equation waiting to be solved. Hermann knows he’s not plenty of things, but he can at least say he’s _complete_. He is not lacking or deficient. He does not like to share liability, whether dumping his own burdens on another or accepting that hardship on behalf of someone else. His life hasn’t exactly been easy; he doesn’t need help and he doesn’t need anything else on his plate. No one has deigned to “share the load” with him and he’ll be damned if he’s doing it for someone else.

He’s expecting to write more codes, spend more time on Jaeger upgrades. To his surprise, they want him crunching numbers to determine frequency and probable targets. Truthfully, he’s been doing it since the second attack, figuring if it happened twice it would surely keep happening. If he didn’t love being right all the time, he would hate it. 

“Doctor Gottlieb?”

Hermann starts at the sound of his name, glancing up to see Ranger Gage standing in the doorway. A former professional athlete, he is a stereotypical American jock, except that he’s not. His ilk tormented Hermann all through school, the strong and handsome types that everyone admired. But Bruce is different. Bruce is actually…not unintelligent. He’ll never be a Rhodes Scholar but his company is tolerable enough, even though they can’t talk shop, so to speak. 

They know each other personally because Bruce insisted on meeting the man responsible for coding the Jaegers, wanted to thank him and see what he was like. No one’s taken such an interest in his work before, so Hermann’s secretly pleased. Bruce is quite literally the first in line to sign up to be a pilot, and along with his twin brother Trevin Gage the first pair of rangers (even before Tamsin and Stacker) to be assigned a Jaeger, Romeo Blue. He’s universally loved and unfailingly pleasant and determined to befriend every single person he meets in the program. 

Hermann privately admits that it’s working, despite the fact he feels they’re a little misguided. He's seen the Gage twins on late night talk shows, knows they ooze more effortless charm in one smile or laugh than he ever has in his life. And that's fine, really; he’s not here to make friends, but he can’t really hold it against someone who’s decided he’s worth the effort. He gives what he hopes is a somewhat pleasant expression in return.

“Yes, Ranger Gage?”

“For the thousandth time, call me Bruce, _please_.” He’s off-duty, wearing a garish orange t-shirt proclaiming his love for some professional sports team no longer in existence. It would be arrogant to wear his own jersey and relive his glory days, Hermann thinks, but it isn’t his. There is another man’s name and number there, always the same one, and since he’ll never ask about it, Hermann will never know the significance unless Bruce tells him.

“Yes, _Bruce_?”

“Secretary General Krieger’s chopper got held up and he won’t be arriving until sometime after 3 AM. Trevin and the rest of us were going to stay up and play some poker until then, since dragging our asses out of bed is Option B. I even bought a case of beer.”

Of course he did. It probably cost him a fortune, too, but American athletes seem to have an excess of money and rangers are awarded the highest pay. Hermann doesn’t really approve of the expense, but Bruce employs his wealth generously. He likes to plan parties and he’ll throw cash at anything he deems to boost morale. Apparently card games and alcohol qualify.

The stern line of Hermann’s mouth flattens even further. “I’ve never played poker before.”

“Dude,” Bruce begins, and Hermann cringes, “you’ll be _godlike_. You have like the best poker face already. And you need to get out of here at some point this weekend. All this chalk dust has got to be killing your lungs, man. If you had asthma you’d be dead at least four times over.”

Hermann fixes Bruce with a dark look but the pilot merely grins. With his close-cut wavy dark hair and a sparkle in his eye, he’s stupidly handsome and Hermann is the tiniest bit envious of the life this man has lived. But instead of relaxing comfortably with his millions and staying in the relative safety of the East Coast, he donated a large portion to the Red Cross and flew across the country to enlist. Admittedly, the Audi he decides to keep on base is hilariously ostentatious, but it is supposedly the one with the best gas mileage.

“Asthma would be a tragic geek stereotype, wouldn’t it?” A shade of bitterness creeps into his voice, and Hermann just can’t help but enjoy Bruce’s tiny flinch. “But all levity aside, don’t you think I’m a lost cause? I’m not exactly ‘one of the guys’ as the saying goes. You can annoy me all night if you want to; I’m not leaving this lab.”

Bruce leans back in his chair and bestows the world’s largest grin upon Hermann’s scowling face. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and ugh, Hermann really hates what passes for style in America. (Mesh athletic shorts should never be worn outside a gym, seriously.) Bruce shoots off a quick text and pockets his mobile.

“Challenge accepted, Doc.”

_Shit._

\--

Two hours later, Hermann has cracked open a few of Bruce’s beers but is still immersed in his programming, leaving Bruce to languish in his own self-imposed guard duty. Any man who can exercise in the Kwoon Training Room for fourteen hours has no problem occupying an office chair, at least theoretically. But Bruce can’t sit still. He’s not unlike a squirmy kid practically convulsing with excitement and pent up energy.

“Talk to me, bro,” Bruce urges, perched on the back of the chair in what has to be an uncomfortable position. Hermann can’t even imagine it feasible for himself with his bad leg.

“I’m not your _bro_ , and I don’t appreciate being called thusly.”

“You just said the word ‘thusly’ in a sentence. Jesus.”

“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“First: he’s not your lord because you’re Jewish. Second: if you don’t like my language I don’t know if I want to keep sharing my beer with you.”

“It’s better than the stuff you Americans normally drink,” Hermann has to admit.

“You are such a snob.”

“I can't help that we brew better beer in Germany.”

“You wouldn’t be drinking _anything_ right now if it weren’t for me,” Bruce grumbles, pulling a face not unlike a five year old. “If you’re going to be unappreciative, next time you’re getting shitty Miller Lite just like everyone else. Don’t even pretend to dislike some of those IPAs I introduced you to. They’re an arm and a leg and hard as hell to find; only the best for you, Hermann.”

And it’s true, excellent beer is no easy feat, and Bruce always makes the effort for him. He’s never stopped to consider it until now, but six beers into a case that had to have cost easily a few hundred dollars it gets him thinking.

"I do appreciate the IPAs," Hermann tells him after a moment. “Why are you so nice? I mean, why bother with someone like me?”

Brown eyes widen in surprise but Bruce is only thoughtful, not offended by Hermann’s scrutiny.

“Well, I wasn’t always a nice person. But I met someone that put me in my place.”

“A girl?”

Bruce shakes his head, gives a funny little smile. “Nope, it was a boy.” 

Hermann can feel his eyebrows climbing at this unexpected confession. Bruce will hit on anything over eighteen with a pulse (except for him, thank God), so he’s not _totally_ surprised.

“This guy, he was a class act, but he wouldn’t give me the time of day until I got my head out of my ass. I thought I was so cool until I met him. I never wanted anything more than to impress him.”

There is a wistful note in Bruce’s voice and Hermann predicts this story will not end well.

“It’s stupid to think he’ll walk right through the door at any time, but it’s hard to imagine a world without him in it. I should have been out there with him, but I was on the disabled list. I stayed home in Baltimore while the rest of the team went to California. We were playing the Giants at MetLife Stadium in San Francisco.”

It’s a variation of a familiar story. “K-Day.”

“Yep,” Bruce draws out the syllable as if it’s an unfamiliar word. “But Nate didn’t die right away in the attack. He could have left sooner, but he was also looking for his family—they were in town to catch his game. Some witnesses saw his parents die, and they never did recover his sister’s body. But he didn’t know that, so while he waited to hear from them, he decided to help people evacuate. He’s one of thousands that died from kaiju blue, but he was a hero. Baseball’s all about stats, but that’s just _cold_.”

Bruce isn’t a maudlin man. He doesn’t even look particularly sad, but Hermann can see tiny cracks around the edges. This is someone who successfully masks his heartbreak every day with a surplus of cheer, someone who hides his feelings for the benefit of others, to give them hope. 

“The Matthews family…they were all good people. Even his older sister who hated me at first, she came around eventually. I think that’s why Nate was so hard on me, because she didn’t like me. I still have one of her instruments—a very expensive resonator ukulele…he lied to her and said it was stolen when he threw a house party but he lent it to me because it’s really neat. He always had my back.”

There’s an easy smile on Bruce’s lips but his eyes are far from lighthearted. “I wish I could say I became a pilot for noble reasons—that I want to save the world. But I care about the world a little less now. I've got my family, which is a lot more than some people have, but I feel robbed. It's selfish, to feel so personal about it, but I want those sons of bitches to die horrible deaths and I want to be the one to do it, plain and simple. Nothing will bring him back, but every time a kaiju dies I don't hate the world quite as much.”

Hermann knows what it’s like to carry a big chip on his shoulder, trying to put on a brave front when faced with such pain and anger. But he’s never had to bear the weight of loss. His family is blessedly whole and intact, and while he may not always like them, he’ll always love them. If they’re a far away sun he orbits, it usually suits him fine, but he needs them there as something steady and reliable, a force to pull against. Alcohol is greasing the wheels a bit, and Hermann’s finding that talking is a lot easier than it normally is. “How do you do it—go on, I mean?”

“No one will ever be Nate, but I figure the world’s full of people that are _like_ him. He spent the first ten years of his life in and out of hospitals, he was so sick from chemo, but it never made him bitter. I can’t even get a shot without bitching. He was always trying to get me to see the good in the world. He told me once, when I was still in my jerk phase, that he’d never seen someone so surrounded by friends but so lonely at the same time. It blew my mind and also made me feel like shit.”

“Love is terrible, or at least you’re making it sound that way.”

Bruce’s mouth twists into a frown. “Hmm, that’s not the message I’m aiming for. I didn’t _live_ until I fell in love. Ha, I knew something was different when it wasn’t about sex, not even a little. But I never got the chance to really think about that part, or any part, really. I’ll never know if he was aware and just waiting for me to make a move, or if he would have even been remotely interested. I drive myself crazy thinking about all the missed opportunities, about what I denied myself because I was scared. I thought I had time.” Bruce chooses this moment to maladroitly adjust the focus of their conversation. “Have you ever been in love?”

Hermann is private, but if Bruce can carry around this kind of baggage and fool the world, then really, so is he. Hermann figures he can at least answer the question and give a tiny little piece in return. “I thought I was once, back in college.”

“One day you’ll know for _sure_ , and your world is gonna change.” This sentence is uttered as if truer words were never spoken. Hermann’s relieved he doesn’t pry. Bruce can be annoying, but he can respect physical, professional, and emotional boundaries for the important stuff. There are no shoulder claps or demeaning nerd jokes when they’re on duty, but even now, throughout the most personal conversation Hermann’s ever participated in during his entire life, he doesn’t feel vulnerable or violated.

Truthfully Hermann feels flattered that he knows something he’s fairly sure isn’t common knowledge. He’s a little more informed than before but it doesn’t seem like a burden. “You don’t talk about this with your brother?”

“Trevin already knows because of the Drift. And I think he’s weirded out by my possibly unrequited maybe-queerplatonic-maybe-not, one-true-love for a former teammate considering I still pick up chicks on a regular basis. It doesn’t make a lot of sense on paper but hey, feelings rarely do. Trust me, if I had the choice to turn off my emotions I’d have started two years ago.”

Hermann would have started much sooner, but he doesn’t say this. “Why tell _me_ of all people?”

The brilliance of Bruce’s smile is blinding. “Because I trust you not to tell anyone, I guess? It’s therapeutic to talk; that’s why people do it. I can’t tell any of this to a PPDC shrink or they’ll yank me out of Romeo Blue so fast I’ll get whiplash.” 

“No, I mean why tell _anyone_ when you’ve kept it a secret for so long?”

“My parents begged me to stay with them, comfortable and relatively safe. I made sure they had enough money but I’m not the type to sit out a fight. I have a vendetta, yeah, but I can do this job. I have to. I’m not some pro athlete yearning for more fame like some people think. I just needed someone to know that I have a legitimate reason to be here, that I deserve to stay.”

“You’ve already killed one kaiju.”

“I could kill all of them and it still wouldn’t bring anyone back that died. I’ll never be done proving myself. I’m just lucky Trevin hasn’t let himself go after joining the Air Force. We’re both primed to kick ass. Working out for hours a day is a hobby of mine—six hours minimum.” 

“That sounds awful,” Hermann admits.

“He loves me enough to know that I really have to do this,” Bruce admits seriously. “My vendetta might get us killed one day. But hey, we’re not here to think, you are. I’m sure you and your geek friends will help us figure out where they’re coming from.”

“My ‘geek friends,’ refers to whom, in particular?”

“All those new K-Science cadets that’ll be starting at the end of the month,” Bruce waves his hand vaguely. “A new batch of super genius scientists, like something out of a comic book! All the Reed Richards and Bruce Banners of the world assembling like the Avengers or some shit. Well, maybe not Reed…he’s always fucking shit up.”

Hermann narrows his eyes. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Dude, I’m serious. Why _wouldn’t_ the smartest minds in the world want to gather together to save it? I know one of the scientists. He’s like a twenty-something Tony Stark—I even bought my Audi off of him.”

The memory of Bruce’s shiny car makes him sigh. The part of him that loves great beer also appreciates German cars, but he doesn’t want to encourage Bruce. “I don’t know if I want someone here if they’re willing to spend over £70,000 on a car.”

“But Hermann, it is a _sexy_ car. He even made some custom modifications and now it goes _even faster_.” 

“When do you get the chance to drive two hundred miles an hour up here in Alaska?” Hermann asks archly, kindly converting to imperial units for the American philistine. (Honestly, anyone can see the metric system is better.)

“Dude, you’re missing the point,” Bruce groans into his hands. He shifts his head a little and glances down at his watch. “Ugh, I can’t believe I didn’t change your mind. My powers of persuasion are _legendary_ and they never work on you.”

“You mean your ability to manipulate and annoy people into doing what you want?”

“Yeah, that,” Bruce agrees gamely. “Look, we could be here for awhile. Be at war, I mean. Who knows how long it’ll take to kill all these monsters? Don't let yourself get isolated. You should look into some friends—besides, me, of course. I’m a pretty hot commodity if I do say so myself. We can’t hang out every night or anything. My peeps will get jelly.”

An actual grimace forms on Hermann’s face at that ridiculous sentence. Bruce, in turn, lights up like a Christmas tree because while English is his first and only language (a sometimes a debatable fact), he likes to utter complete nonsense in Hermann’s presence just to see the horrible faces he makes. Bruce is a few years older than he is but he acts like a mischievous younger brother would. (He also gets away with everything, much like Bastien.) He wouldn’t say Bruce knows him as well as his family does, but better than most (and maybe even better than some of them).

“I am corresponding with someone one might consider a friend,” Hermann admits softly. “A biologist with an interest in my Mark I code. He’s actually arriving with the group you mentioned, but I’m leaving for Japan and won’t see him.”

“Bummer, man,” Bruce says. “That’s rough. I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually. I had a pen pal when I was in grade school. We wrote until college and then we were Facebook friends after that. He died in Manila. Like, what are the fucking chances?” Bruce cracks open another beer and hands one to Hermann. “Your biologist got a name?”

“Doctor Newton Geiszler.”

Bruce spits out his beer. Before Hermann can comment on that he’s shaking from laughter—actual tears are streaming down his face as he repeatedly mutters, “Oh my God!” His expression is that of a child told that Christmas and his birthday have just been combined into a mega-holiday. 

“You’re shitting me, Doc.” Hermann’s dark eyes narrow, because he was about to say something similar to Bruce. Surely the ranger has no idea who he’s talking about, especially if Doctor Geiszler isn’t even officially part of the program yet. Bruce admirably struggles to reign in his emotions and eventually mops up the mess he made with his hoodie sleeve. To Hermann’s surprise, Bruce settles on a rather neutral question. “So…how long have you been writing each other?”

“A little over a year and a half.”

“Did you ever video chat with him or anything?” 

“No, we just wrote letters.”

“That is some straight-up Victorian era shit right there,” Bruce can’t help but comment. “Did you Google him at all?”

“I did to confirm his identity as a professor at MIT.”

“Google image search, maybe?” Bruce elaborates.

“Should I have?” 

“You mean you’re not even a little curious about what your nerd soulmate looks like?”

“Our correspondence is professional and platonic, Ranger Gage.”

Bruce holds up his hands in surrender at the severity of Hermann's tone. “I know, I’m joking. It’s just that most people like to put a face to a name, and after talking for so long I’m surprised you didn’t want to hit him up on Skype or something.”

“I’d prefer to meet in person if we’re going that route. We discussed it but we both travel frequently and have busy schedules.”

Looking uncharacteristically serious, Bruce meets his eyes. “I’m not trying to burst your bubble, but maybe it’s a good thing you’re fucking off to Japan for awhile,” he says with all the care he’s capable of. “Newt’s really awesome, but I gotta say, Doc, this is not a good idea. You said it yourself: you don’t want to deal with someone who blew over a hundred grand on a car, and—” Bruce pulls up a picture on his phone of a man collapsed over the hood of a black Audi in what can only be described as a bittersweet farewell “—this is totally Doctor Newton Geiszler right here." 

Bruce is a terrible photographer, even when he's taking a picture of the back of someone's head. The man has brown hair and is wearing jeans so tight it's borderline scandalous. Rubber bracelets line his wrists and he has what looks like tattoo line art running up one of his arms, but Hermann can't make out details. 

"Did he actually launch himself onto the vehicle?" Hermann asks after a moment.

Bruce nods. "The scratch his belt buckle left in the paint took ages to buff out.”

“And he’s a professor at MIT?”

“He sure was,” Bruce’s smile is blinding. 

“How do you know him?”

“I was a coach for Little League when I was in high school in Philly. I think he got signed up to keep him out his uncle’s hair for a few months out of the year after school…I did wonder why someone so nerdy kept showing up. But Newt knows a lot about music, even more than Trevin—and for the love of God, don’t tell my brother I said that—so I guess he left an impression. We met up again when he sold me his car right before I joined the Jaeger Program. He knew the cost of an education would skyrocket so he was going to set aside the money for his younger cousin to go to college. I couldn’t say it then because at the time she was only seventeen, but his cousin is _really_ hot, like quite possibly the hottest woman ever.” Bruce winks. “Newt’s not bad either."

The noise of disgust Hermann makes at that is exactly what Bruce is expecting, so he sits back and enjoys the show like always. When it becomes clear the mathematician’s scowl won’t subside, Bruce’s smile fades.

“In all seriousness you just have to keep an open mind—I can’t stress that enough. You’ve also got to know what you can handle, and if you think I’m full of crazy ideas, this guy makes me look like Mr. Rogers.” Bruce pauses. “It occurs to me you might not know this reference, growing up in Germany and all, but basically I’m trying to say that he’s going to make you go insane within ten seconds of meeting him and that’s not going to be good for anyone. I’m just looking out for you, Hermann.”

“Well, you have plenty of time to talk me out of it, as I’ll be in Tokyo for nine months starting next week and Doctor Geiszler will be spending a large portion of the remaining year here in Alaska.”

Bruce flinches a bit at the sharp tone but knows he deserves it. He sighs. Hermann is far too stubborn to listen to him and if their roles were reversed, Bruce knows he would also need to find this kind of thing out for himself too. They finish their beers in somewhat companionable silence. Bruce knows things will be back to normal the next day, but wonders how Hermann’s going to react when they do finally meet in person. He’s not trying to stir shit—honestly—but doesn’t think there’s anything he can do. Yeah, it’s meddlesome, but Hermann doesn’t need to be any more remote than he already is, and a big enough fuss might not spook Newton all the way back to MIT, but what if he runs off and joins up with one of those black market dealers or something? He’s not always on the up and up.

An alarm on Bruce's phone chimes, letting him know it's nearly three in the morning. Secretary General Krieger’s arrival is imminent and even though Bruce doesn’t work in LOCCENT he’s still expected to greet him. Truthfully, he’s spent too much time in the lab, but the change of scenery is nice. He loves his brother and enjoys the company of the other rangers, but he doesn’t have to put up any pretenses for Hermann. He’s feeling a little more like a human being than he has in some time and hopes that he did more good than harm. 

Bruce casually tosses a glance at Hermann as he collects their empty bottles. “I know you’re leaving in less than a week, but don’t be a stranger, okay?” 

“Of course not,” Hermann reassures him. 

“You’d better not miss the beer more than me.”

“You could always send some to Japan,” Hermann deflects breezily.

“I’d offer to bring you some myself in Romeo Blue, but for some reason whenever I propose a cooler in the Con-Pod, they always shoot me down.”

“I’m sure Secretary General Krieger loves these types of suggestions.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to go upstairs and deal with his bullshit,” Bruce grumbles. “There are rumors he’s retiring soon. I mean, the PPDC is less than two years old. How can you retire from it already?”

Hermann’s heard the same rumors and is similarly at a loss. “Some people can’t stomach the burden, I suppose.”

“He’s not even risking his life out there. Fucking political bullshit; I bet he’ll get some cushy gig somewhere inland. What is the point in getting ahead when staying right here is going to save us all? I’d rather die in Romeo Blue than quit. Jesus, it might really come to that someday.”

Bruce looks contemplative, and before Hermann can open his mouth to object, he pulls out six bottles of beer and places them on the desk. “Bruce, what—?” 

“Look, there’s no way they’ll survive the trip to Japan, but they’re yours for the week you're still here. Honestly, you appreciate them more than anyone else on base; they don’t care if I bring them shitty beer, as long as it’s free. It’s too bad you can’t save them for when you meet your friend, but it sounds like that’s pretty far off into the future. I’m sorry about what I said, you know? I’m sure you two will get along great.”

The apology isn’t completely sincere; he knows Bruce still has misgivings. But six bottles of beer worth a small fortune…if Hermann were more creative the possibilities would be endless. But he’s not going to sell or trade them for anything; there’s nothing he really wants more, except for maybe a fresh orange plucked straight off the tree, completely impossible in Alaska. The beer itself is miraculous enough, and Hermann is truly touched by the gesture. 

“Thank you, Bruce.”

“No worries, Doc. Get some sleep. If I find out you stayed up all night I’m going to take back all that beer.”

Hermann gives him a mock salute but knows Bruce will absolutely keep his word. As he carefully packs them in his bag and heads back to his room, he wonders if he should have taken Bruce up on his offer for more information. The back of someone’s head isn’t much to go by, but the picture on Bruce’s phone doesn’t exactly depict the Doctor Newton Geiszler he has in mind. Bruce can be a pain in the ass, but his intentions are never bad. Hermann’s last thought before he finally drifts off to sleep is that Bruce must surely be exaggerating about Newton Gieszler.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from Heather Nova's "It's Only Love." 
> 
> I can't stop writing these Hermann/Newton stories. The whole "let's meet in person" thing is killing me; people write the meet up so much better than I ever could, so I just stick to the buildup and letdown. Those are really the most interesting aspects of it to me anyway. 
> 
> I also see Newton as knowing his way around a car; he likes to tinker and knows his way around machines well enough to create a PONS out of garbage, so I figure he'd appreciate some fine German engineering and shamelessly included this, along with a small reference to Charlie Day playing baseball.


End file.
